


Rather Wear Flowers than Diamonds

by 2space_lesbo1



Category: God of War
Genre: F/M, Flower Crowns, I Made Myself Cry, Ragnarok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 01:56:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2space_lesbo1/pseuds/2space_lesbo1
Summary: Atreus has always loved to make flower crowns.





	Rather Wear Flowers than Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this last night, and it's a short compilation of even shorter one-shots of Atreus and flower crowns. Hope ya'll like

“To make a crown of flowers,” Faye is saying, her deep voice soft as she weaves to flower stems together, holding them out for Atreus to see. The small boy watches curiously, bright, blue eyes wide. “You must delicately weave the stems together, making sure to not pull hard, else you could break them. Flowers are beautiful and fragile, and you must treat them as such when using them.” 

Atreus nods, looking down at the pile of flowers his mother had given him in his lap. He grabs two- a blue and red- and copies his mother’s finger movements, wrapping one stem around the other carefully. Faye nods with a light smile, picking up another flower to weave in. “You repeat this process, going in a circular motion,” she explains to him, weaving more and more flowers into her mix. Her crown is made of multiple colors, but Atreus seems intent on using only red and blue flowers. 

His small hands shake, and his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth as he focuses, slowly weaving each and every stem. It takes him a little longer to finish, and his mother sets the one she made on his head as he continues to concentrate. He giggles a little when she sets the crown on his head, though, and once he's finished with his he holds it up towards her. He grins proudly, even if his own flower crown is a bit more messy than his mother's. He's happy with how it turned out. 

“I used your two favorite colors!” he informs her and she smiles brightly back at him. 

“It's wonderful, darling,” she says to him, bending her head a little so he can place it. She adjusts it slightly once he has, winking at him. “You look like the flower prince.” 

“And you look like the flower queen!” Atreus replies with a giggle, grabbing another flower. He hops up and in her lap, tucking the flower beneath the crown and behind her ear. “A really pretty flower queen, too!” 

“Oh stop it, you flatterer,” Faye says with a chuckle, catching him with her arms. She squeals a little as she presses quick kisses to his face, holding him in place before she finishes with a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Practice making these everyday, and soon you'll be the best crown maker in all of Midgard, my little prince.” 

“Yes mam, my queen!” Atreus exclaims, mock saluting. 

He practices making a flower crown every chance he gets after that, hoping to give one to his father one day. 

….

Atreus’s hands shake terribly, his eyes wet as he shakily weaves the flowers together, patting them every now and then to keep them circular. His chest aches with repressed sobs and he pauses in the making of his flower crown to angrily wipe at his eyes, forcing the tears from them. 

He reaches to his pile of flowers, a ton of different colors in the mix. Each one is the prettiest from each patch he found, though. He wants to make sure this flower crown is perfect. 

It takes a him a few minutes- his hands won't stop shaking and tears won't stop gathering in his eyes- but he does eventually finish. He holds the flower crown up, forcing a smile on his lips when he sees how well he made it. 

He then pushes to his feet, entire body shaking as he walks to his house, pushing the door open slowly. Thankfully, his father has not returned from cutting one of the nearby trees down, and so the house is empty. He walks to the table, to his mother, throat closing to see her so still. 

His eyes screw shut and his world spins, but he forces himself to continue moving. He reaches forward, setting the flower crown atop his mother’s head, the flowers nearly falling due to his shaking hands. But he adjusts them and then bends, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“Here is your crown, flower queen,” he whispers, his voice tight, he's screwing shut. He breathes deeply through his nose, forcing himself to stay calm. “You're still as beautiful as ever.” 

He doesn't move until his father returns, leading him to another tree. 

….

Atreus pushes some bushes aside, grinning as a clump of colorful flowers sticking from the thick snow catches his eyes. He bends over and carefully picks the few remaining flowers around their homestead, carrying them back, ignoring the strong and cold gusts of wind. He then sits down on a rock outside of their house, the thumping of a nearby hammer as his father works to repair their home reaching his ears. 

He looks down at the last of the flowers to have grown before Fimbulwinter kicked in fully, and grins to see he'd have enough for three. He sets to work, picking out red flowers for his father- that seemed to be his favorite color- and golden petals for Mimir, reminiscent of his glowing eyes. He sets aside the left over colors, hoping there would be enough for a third. 

He finishes the two main crowns quickly, his fingers having grown used to making them after so many years. He makes a third with the remaining flowers and stands, skipping to the side of the house his father is currently working on. He can see Mimir propped up on the roof beside his father’s head, probably for some information on Ragnarok or something else. 

“Hey, Father!” he calls up, keeping the crowns hidden behind his back. Kratos pauses in his hammering, looking down at him. “Could you and Mimir take a break?” 

“I need to fix the roof before nightfall, boy,” Kratos points out, about to turn back to his hammering. 

“Please, Father?” Atreus calls again, looking up at him with what he hopes to be his best pleading eyes. They always seemed to work on his mother. And, they seemed to with his father occasionally. “It'll be really quick!” 

His father relents with a heavy sigh, grabbing Mimir and hopping down the side of the house, landing with a thud beside Atreus. The boy grins widely and points at a nearby rock. “Take a seat!” he exclaims, frowning at his father’s narrowed eyes. “Just go with it, please?” 

Kratos lets out another heavy sigh, and as he passes, Atreus catches Mimir grinning at him, a knowing look in his eyes. Had he seen the flower crowns?

“Okay, Father,” Atreus says, coming to stand in front of him. “Set Mimir on the rock beside you. I made both of you something.” 

His father does so and the head winks up at Atreus. 

Atreus then holds the flower crowns in front of himself with a large grin, proudly showing them off. He can hear his father sigh again. “You haven't been helping because you've used this time to play with flowers?” he asks, tiredness in his voice. 

“No!” Atreus defends quickly before thinking about it. “Okay, well, yeah, but come on, Mother used to love these! Besides, I used red flowers for you since you really like red, and they're really pretty!” 

“Come on, brother,” Mimir chimes in with a slight hum. “Just wear them. It's not as if they'll burn your skin. Besides, the lad made them for us. Might as well.” 

Atreus's grins broadens as the head sides with him and he holds up the golden crown. “I made this one for you, Mimir!” he informs. “They match your eyes!” 

“That they do, little brother,” Mimir agrees, grinning in return as Atreus approaches, placing the golden crown around his horns. “Thank you very much, they are quite beautiful.” 

The boy then looks at his father expectantly. It takes a moment, but Kratos sighs again, shaking his head a little as he leans forward. Atreus grins once more, hurrying to place the red crown upon his father’s bald head. 

“I crown you the flower king!” Atreus exclaims, laughing at his father’s confused face. He sets his mixed color crown on his own head. “Mother was the flower queen, I'm the flower prince, and so that obviously makes you the flower king.” 

“Ah, obviously,” Kratos replies and Atreus could have sworn he saw the tips of his lips twitch upwards. 

“Then what am I?” Mimir interjects curiously from his place and Atreus has to think for a moment. 

“You're the flower advisor!” Atreus says proudly. “And, you're the smartest man in the flower court!” 

“That fits,” Mimir says in agreement. 

Atreus grins and sits down beside his father, reaching up to adjust the red crown. 

And maybe, just maybe, when Atreus isn't looking, Kratos smiles warmly at the boy. He really does bring the color back into the world. 

….

Atreus sits down in one of the clearings of the Iron Woods, the sounds of Fenrir and Angrboda playing with one another not too far off. He ignores them for now, reaching around himself to pick some of the prettiest flower buds, gathering them into a pile in his lap. He sets to work, pulling aside the yellow flowers for Angrboda- they're her favorite kind- and the red for Fenrir, as he's color blind to any other color. 

He maybe older, maybe a grown man, but that doesn't mean he can't still make these. 

He easily makes two flower crowns, making a third as a second thought. He then stands and clears his throat. “Angrboda, Fenrir, I made you two something,” he calls out to his wife and son, grinning as they step out of underbrush. She would have made two more for Sleipnir and his father, but the two of them had stayed back at camp with the rest of the Giants. 

“What is it, dear?” Angrboda asks curiously, her steel eyes soft for once. They tend to be when it's just the three of them, away from the eyes of the Giants she leads. She doesn't like to show as much emotion with the rest, as she is their Great Chief and she wants to appear strong. Even if she doesn't need to. Atreus knows she is the strongest woman he's ever met after his mother. 

“Yeah, Dad, what?” Fenrir asks, the horse sized wolf hopping side to side on his paws, his large tail wagging side to side excitedly. 

“Close your eyes,” Atreus orders softly, and Fenrir does so without question, but Angrboda raises an eyebrow at him. He winks at her and smiles softly. “You trust me, right?” 

“Of course I do, but it's an odd request,” she points out and he shrugs, chuckling lightly. 

“Just do it,” he says in return. 

She sighs heavily but does so and he steps forward, bending in the slightest to place the red crown on Fenrir’s head- the wolf’s ears perk up at the sudden, light weight on his head- and sets the yellow crown of flowers on his wife’s head. “Alright, you can open your eyes now,” hey informs them, placing the last crown on top of his own head. 

Fenrir does so first, his blue eyes straining to see what is on top of his head. “What is it?” the wolf asks, beginning to spin as though that would help him. 

Angrboda sees what's on Atreus’s head and rolls her eyes. “Flower crowns?” she asks, and to anyone else she would sound annoyed, but Atreus could hear the amusement. “These things are pointless.” 

“But they are pretty,” he replies with a shrug and then smirks when she doesn't take the flowers off. “And besides, if you wear them, then you become royalty.” 

“Really?” Angrboda asks, her eyebrow raising once more. Fenrir stops turning, his puppyish eyes wide. 

“Seriously?!” he asks, his excitement clear in his tone. 

Atreus nods seriously. “Yup,” he replied. “You, my wonderful,” he says, pointing to the wolf, “Are the new flower prince. I myself am the new flower king and you,” he catches one of Angrboda’s hands in his, smiling wider when she doesn't pull it from his grasp. He leans in for a kiss, and is delighted to receive one. He finishes speaking as he pulls back, “You, my most wonderful wife, are the new flower queen.” 

“Well, if those are the rules,” Angrboda says with a slight shake of her head, her cheeks slightly redder than usual. 

Fenrir hops up and down, the flower crown nearly falling off multiple times. “I'm the flower prince!” he exclaims continuously before running off, laughing. 

“Your turn,” Angrboda points out to Atreus. 

“Oh alright,” Atreus says, winking at her as he passes, letting her calloused fingers slip from his own as he walks past her. “But it seems as if he has endless energy.” 

“That's because he does,” Angrboda replies with a small chuckle, sitting down on a nearby rock. “Have fun!” 

Atreus chuckles as well, giving chase after his hyper son. 

….

Atreus- now known solely as Loki- gathers a bunch of red flowers, ignoring the continuous fighting, the continuous shouting and death occurring around him, too focused on grabbing the last bunch of red flowers. He straightens and glances around himself, sighing as he notices how close the flames of Asgard’s ruin are getting to him. He waves a hand out, keeping them back as he treads back to his house, smiling in relief to see it still standing. 

He sits down on the rock outside of the door, not yet ready to go inside yet. He has to make this crown first, has to gather himself before he could face his father. He knows this is how his father wanted things, but it was still hard for him to accept. 

But he would appease his father’s wishes. 

Loki weaves the stems together, breathing in the fresh air that surrounds his home. Smoke gathers around it, but he had long since set a barrier to keep the black smog out to make it easier for his father and himself to breathe. 

He glances up as he hears Jörmangundrr let out a guttural roar, launching himself at Thor just as the Thunder God comes charging down at him. He sighs heavily as the World Serpent is sent flying back- but not before dealing a killing blow on Thor. 

He knows his son is alright. He was just sent back in time. 

Thor is not as alright, though. Not that he cares. 

He finishes the flower crown just as Tyr’s Temple explodes, large men and women appearing in its place. Ah, so the remains of the Jöten army has come at last. He can see Angrboda and their son, Fenrir leading the army, the huge wolf snarling, his mother perched between his shoulders. 

Odin appears on Sleipnir’s back, and his stomach does flip. He knows his eight-legged child will be freed, but he does still hate to see him like this. He'd have to join the fight once he is done here. 

He finishes the crown just as Hela rises from the ground in a brilliant display of green flames, her half flesh half skeleton face turned to a scowl. He smiles at his daughter, proud to see her raising the ranks of her undead army. He'd soon join her to help her lead. 

He stands and faces him home. He was more prepared to fight against Odin with a legion of the undead then too face his father now. But he forces himself to walk forward, crown gripped tightly in his hands. 

He pushes inside, the noise becoming dulled as he shuts the door, his footsteps becoming the only thing he listens to. A fire dances in the pit between their two beds and he kneels beside his father’s still form, ignoring the tears gathering in his eyes as he slowly reaches up, resting the crown upon his head. 

“Find your way to Mother,” he whispers to his father, knowing he could be heard. “Find her, and your past loved ones. Finally be at peace, Father. Rest.” 

He places light a kiss to his father’s forehead before pressing their foreheads together, allowing a few of his tears to fall. His father had passed naturally. He hadn't been killed or murdered, and that's how his father had always wanted to go out. That's how Loki had always wanted him to go out. He'd make sure Hela would guide him to a comfortable afterlife once this was all over. 

He stays like that for a few minutes, the noises of battle cancelled out as he whispers the Spartan prayer his father had taught him for this moment. Then, he stands, readjusting the flower crown before forcing himself from their home. 

Then, he gathers himself, whispers, “Kenaz.” A ball of blue fire lights in the palm of his hand and he bends over, letting the fire catch the wood of their home. He then steps back, watching as the blue flames consume their home. As the fire dies down, he turns, facing the battle of the undead and the Giants. 

He squares his shoulders and steals his face, placing a smirk on his face. He was ready. 

Loki leaps to join Ragnarok.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think ;)


End file.
